


Mr. Congeniality

by liarlagoon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, FBI Agent Sixty, FBI Analyst Connor, Gen, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liarlagoon/pseuds/liarlagoon
Summary: Connor is an FBI Analyst at the Detroit field office. Information from one of his CIs leads to a raid on a drug gang. The gang isn't happy. Liam, his twin and an agent at the same field office, comes to the rescue.





	Mr. Congeniality

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna talk DBH? Come hit us up at the Detroit: New ERA: https://discord.gg/ZpHe5zf

Connor is jogging home, listening to an audiobook on advancements in geographic profiling with his left ear and his surroundings with his right. He's had a productive day; an informant had come through with new information on the MacMillan gang, and he'd managed to tie the new info with old leads and had given the field team a possible location of a major coke distribution center. The lead panned out, and twenty-six arrests had been made, including two members of the gang's mid-tier leadership. So, Connor is in a good mood. He's looking forward to getting home and sitting down to watch the new Netflix comedy special he's been hearing about with his cat, Lucy, lovingly nicknamed Lucifer by Liam after she shredded his favorite tie.

He's in such a good mood, in fact, that he forgets to be paranoid about passing unlit alleyways on his jog home, so he's unprepared when a two by four swings out of the dark. He manages to get his hands around it before it makes impact, so it doesn't break his ribs when it strikes his abdomen, but the force is still enough to wind him and send him stumbling. Before he can even attempt to catch his breath, a fist slams into his face, and he goes down hard.

"You'll stay down if you know what's good for you," a hard, unyielding voice says from above him and to the right, but Connor has never claimed to know what's good for him, so he rolls backwards and kicks up at the same time he pushes himself off the ground with his hands. His feet make contact with something solid, and a stream of colorful curses follows immediately after. He lands in a crouch, shoes scraping along concrete as he shifts his balance, and he feels triumphant for all of a second before a boot slams into his chest and his lungs seize. He collapses on the ground, curling instinctively to shield himself, though the damage has already been done, and gasps for air that will not come.

A man dressed in a hoodie with a bandanna tied around his face crouches in front of Connor. "Woulda been easier if you just listened, Mr. Moreau. We're just trying to ask a couple'a questions, but you had to go and make this difficult."

Connor doesn't respond, can't, just continues to gasp in wheezing breaths, short and strained. His lungs are starting to burn, and he uncurls enough to fumble for the inhaler in his pocket. He gets hold of it, but the man in front of him snatches it away before he can use it and pats his cheek condescendingly.

"Ah ah," he singsongs, "questions first."

Another man, face visible and nose bloody, steps forward then, sneering down at Connor. Before saying anything, he lands a hard kick to Connor's ribs. "Little bitch," he mutters, then, louder, "who's the snitch?"

\--

Liam is finishing his report on the day's raid on a MacMillan cocaine manufacturing facility, proofreading before he submits it, when something green catches his eye. When he rolls his chair to the side to get a better look, he sees exactly what he thought it was: Connor's lunchbox. Liam sighs and resigns himself to making a stop by Connor's apartment before going to his own, knowing that the disruption to his routine caused by the missing lunchbox will make Connor grouchy the whole next day if he doesn't.

It takes him ten minutes to finish his proofreading, and then he pulls out his phone to call Connor and let him know he's coming over. He doesn't answer. Liam frowns at his phone as another minute passes without a text from Connor; his twin always either answers the phone or rejects the call and immediately follows up with a text. Nerves curl in his stomach as he redials, walking quickly to the exit. Voicemail again.

Liam breaks into a run when he reaches the ground floor, after three more calls going to voicemail in the elevator. Connor only left twenty minutes ago, and his asthma makes him slow; he can't have gone far. He follows Connor's usual route home, the fear curling in his chest sharpening his senses and easing the burn in his lungs. 

He makes it half a mile before he hears the faint sound of wheezing coming from an alleyway up ahead, and his heart leaps into his throat when it's interrupted by a choked grunt of pain, followed by a chorus of laughter. He fights his instinct to go rushing in and slows to a stop at the mouth of the alley, leaning around the corner just enough to see.

There are six men in a loose circle around a familiar figure curled on the ground. One of them holds about an arm's length of two by four, and another brandishes a knife in Connor's face; the rest appear to be unarmed. All but one have cloth covering the lower halves of their faces. The blood dripping down the face of the one without a cloth sends a spike of pride through Liam, enough to temporarily cut through the rage that settles into his bones when he sees the bruises already forming on his twin's face and the way he curls protectively around his chest and ribs when one of them aims another kick. 

He pulls out his work cell and calls dispatch.

"This is Sixty," he says into the phone, clear and quiet, "I've got an ongoing aggravated assault involving six assailants in an alley off Fifth Avenue and Johnson. Requesting backup."

"10-4, officers en route. Wait for their arrival before engaging, Sixty." 

The man with the knife drags the tip of it along Connor's cheekbone and down his jawline in a threatening gesture, and Liam's world drops into sharp angles and cold calculation, everything outside of the alleyway fading into white noise.

"Negative, dispatch," he says distantly, "going in."

He hangs up, checks that his gun is secure in it's holster, and steps into the alley. The men are cocky, apparently, focused on Connor and not worried about getting caught, so Liam is close enough to land a jab to the throat of the one with the two by four before they notice him. The man goes down, gasping and holding his hands to his throat, and then all of them turn on him at once.

The first one swings; Liam ducks and jabs an elbow into his sternum, then shoves him back into the one with the knife. A flat palm to the nose of another, eliciting a _snap_ and a yelp, a foot to someone else's groin, an elbow to a temple, a knee to an elbow, and Liam has three of them down and the knife in his own hand. He twists it around and slams the butt of it into the fourth man's forehead and then swings his fist into the side of his head, and then there were two. He tosses away the knife and spins, throwing the full weight of his leg into the fifth man's ribs, and there's a crack and a gasp of pain before the man crumples to the ground. He turns to face the last man, the one with no mask and a bloody nose, and finds him standing, back to a wall, with Connor held up in front of him in a chokehold. Liam snarls and pulls his gun, aiming in between the man's eyes. The man tightens his grip around Connor's throat with a sneer, and Liam clicks off the safety.

Connor, dazed, in pain, and still fighting for air, rolls his eyes and shakes his head minutely at Liam. Liam cocks his head slightly in question, and Connor answers by slamming his elbow backwards into the man's solar plexus. He stomps on his foot, and then, when the man releases him, spins and follows up with a punch to the man's already broken nose and a knee to the groin. The man goes to the ground with a groan, and Connor stumbles back and slides down the adjacent wall, hands coming up to press on his chest.

Liam laughs in relief and drops down next to his brother, putting the safety back on his gun and holstering it as he goes. "Hey, Con, come on, breathe for me. Where's your inhaler?"

Connor gestures to one of the downed men; Liam pats him down and pulls the inhaler out of one of his pockets, "accidentally" stepping on his stomach as he stands. The man groans and curls up in a ball as Liam kneels next to Connor again, inhaler in hand. Connor gives him a flat look as he takes it, and Liam says, extremely unconvincingly, "Oops."

Backup arrives not two minutes later, and the officers handcuff the men and lead the ones who are not bleeding to squad cars and the ones who are to ambulances. Liam pulls Connor off the ground and leads him over to an ambulance as well, where a paramedic gives him an ice pack for his face, tapes the rib that had been cracked, and recommends daily albuterol treatments for the next week. When the paramedic is done, she steps aside and allows one of the responding officers - a friend of the twins', actually, Chloe - to take Connor's statement. She asks him to stop by in the morning to verify it, and they make plans to get lunch the following week and catch up.

With all that done, the twins leave together for Connor's apartment. As soon as they're out of earshot of all of the first responders, Liam starts laughing.

"I can't believe you beat someone up with SING," he giggles, only laughing harder when Connor lightly punches his shoulder.

"It _worked_ ," Connor rasps. He continues, with a red tinge crawling up the back of his neck, "I've always wanted to try it."

"Okay, Ms. Congeniality," Liam says, barely contained laughter in his voice. Connor swats him over the head, and then they both fall against each other, giggling uncontrollably.

They make it back to Connor's apartment, eventually, and curl up together in his bed. Liam wraps one arm around Connor's waist and buries the other hand in his hair, and Connor presses his face into Liam's shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be more careful," Liam murmurs into his hair, knowing full well that Connor can make no such guarantee.

Connor, knowing the same but indulging in this temporary, fragile comfort, wraps his arms around Liam, squeezes him in a hug, and says, "I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to point out any typos please! This was written and posted on my phone and ao3 is being difficult about it


End file.
